2. SCENE II. London. Another street.
[Enter Prince Henry and Poins.]
Before God, I am exceeding weary.
Is 't come to that? I had thought weariness durst not have
attach'd one of so high blood.
Faith, it does me; though it discolours the complexion of
my greatness to acknowledge it. Doth it not show vilely in me to
desire small beer?
Why, a prince should not be so loosely studied as to
remember so weak a composition.
Belike then my appetite was not princely got; for, by my troth,
I do now remember the poor creature, small beer. But, indeed,
these humble considerations make me out of love with my greatness.
What a disgrace is it to me to remember thy name! or to know thy
face to-morrow! or to take note how many pair of silk stockings thou
hast, viz. these, and those that were thy peach-coloured ones! or to
bear the inventory of thy shirts, as, one for superfluity, and another
But that the tennis-court-keeper knows better than I; for it is a low
ebb of linen with thee when thou keepest not racket there; as thou hast
not done a great while, because the rest of thy low countries have made
a shift to eat up thy holland: and God knows, whether those that bawl
out of the ruins of thy linen shall inherit his kingdom: but the
midwives say the children are not in the fault; whereupon the world
increases, and kindreds are mightily strengthened.
How ill it follows, after you have laboured so hard, you
should talk so idly! Tell me, how many good young princes would
do so, their fathers being so sick as yours at this time is?
Shall I tell thee one thing, Poins?
Yes, faith; and let it be an excellent good thing.
It shall serve among wits of no higher breeding than thine.
Go to; I stand the push of your one thing that you will tell.